Security Blanket
by Ros3bud009
Summary: Lithuania knew America's belief that Russia acted the way he did as a need for power and world dominance. Yet as he watched his shoulders rise and fall while he grabbed and pulled at his hair, he simply could not believe that was all. Russia/Liet


Toris was frightened.

His hands trembled at his sides as he walked up to the doors to Russia's room. Tonight was not a good night; he was not sure what was going on, as no one seemed inclined to tell the small country, but he knew from the air of confusion and insecurity that something tremendous was in the workings. Something tremendous, but frightening.

Voices could be heard beyond the door; it sounded as if Belarus had beaten him to Ivan's side. She was speaking in an overly confident manner, as if hoping it would be strong enough to be contagious. "There is not need to be so worried brother. You are strong, and will continue to be strong! With or without him everyone will be one with--"

Toris had chosen the wrong moment to open the door slowly and peer in. Ivan was sitting in his chair facing away from the door, so all the small country could see was his broad back expand as he suddenly shouted "Enough!" at her in Russian. The room was filled with the clattering of broken glass; the bottle of Vodka had shattered upon impact against the wall. Natalia looked genuinely frightened, a look Lithuania had never seen on her face before. Her hands were brought close to her chest.

"Brother…"

"Go," the large nation growled out, his hands rising to his forehead and temples. Belarus stood still for a moment, her eyes darting between her beloved brother and the Vodka dripping down the wall; eyebrows furrowed and lips tight, she walked stiffly from his side towards the door. The jolt of fear that ran through Toris as their eyes met was matched with her own of shock and soon after disgust. Her arms snapped to her sides and she stalked past him, not apologizing as he was pushed against the doorframe. It was hard to hear, but as she passed she seemed to be mumbling to herself, assuring herself almost, that Russia was strong. They would be one. They would.

The small, now trembling country watched her stalk down the hallway before finally forcing himself to look back into the room. Ivan was still facing away from him, staring at the map of Eurasia hung there on the wall. There were pen marks all over it, older looking ones marking up the entirety of Russia – which now had the name Советский Союз scrawled across it in thick red ink – while newer ones sprawled all around the large nation. It was expanding, anyone could see that. America had told him, while visiting and managing to get him alone, that Ivan was trying to get power. That he wanted to control the whole world.

Toris didn't doubt him. He knew the large nation wanted all to be one under the Soviet. He wanted all the other nations to bow to his whims.

And yet, as he watched the large shoulders rise and fall with quick breathes while he grabbed and pulled at his hair, he simply could not believe it was merely a game of power.

Uncertain of what to do, Lithuania desperately desired to leave while the other was unaware of his presence. It had been quite some time since he had seen Ivan like this, and he did not want to relive the results of that time. But Russia had called for him; if he did not let him know he'd come, the large nation would come for _him_ and punish him for disobeying.

He coughed quietly to indicate his presence. Ivan's shoulders tensed.

"Lithuania."

"Y-yes?"

"Bring me a new bottle." Toris nodded, even if the other would not have been able to see it, and wondered over to the cabinet. He was shocked when he found it almost bare, with only two small bottles left hidden in the corners. While he knew they had been running low of late, it had certainly not been _this_ low. Trying his best to be inconspicuous, Lithuania peered over his shoulder and noted that there were at least two bottles laying on the ground that he could see; add that to the one shattered against the wall and a few that were no doubt hidden from his view, and he was certain that something was horribly, terribly wrong.

He didn't dare refuse the order however; he grabbed the two small glass bottles and walked over to Russia's desk. "D-do you need a glass?" Toris asked shyly, and felt himself fidget when he was met with silence.

However, he nearly leapt out of his skin as suddenly a boisterous laugh burst from Ivan. It did not seem to be ending soon either as the large nation bent over himself, chuckling with such strength that his shoulders heaved every time he tried to bring oxygen back into his lungs. Toris felt that perhaps he should try to laugh too, though he wasn't sure what there was to laugh at, but ultimately was so frightened that he simply stood awkwardly.

It wasn't that he wasn't happy to hear the other nation laugh. In fact, it was relieving to hear a laugh from Russia that didn't make his skin crawl. It was loud and hearty and _real_. As he laughed, he seemed far more… human.

That was what Lithuania found so absolutely terrifying.

Still chuckling under his breath, Ivan waved his hand over his shoulder as if to beckon the small nation over. "No, no, do not worry yourself Lithuania! For a Russian such as myself, a glass would merely slow me down. Here, here, hand me the bottle!" the man ordered gaily, reaching out to grab the bottle.

Toris gasped as he felt the man's cold hand capture his own along with the bottle he'd been holding. Due to his drunken stupor, or perhaps even his moment of fleeting bliss, Ivan did not seem to notice and pulled the drink, Lithuania and all, up to his lips. He tilted his head back and took a hefty swig; the angle forced the panicked Toris to twist his torso and arm awkwardly, while his mouth opened and closed as if to make protest, but found himself unable force the words from his throat. It was not until Russia lowered the bottle and opened his eyes that he noticed the heat radiating from his grasp.

He did not look up at the nation standing next to him; he did not release his entrapped fingers either. Toris gulped.

"Russia…?" Even at his side, Lithuania could not see the man's face very well. It was hidden in shadow and tilted down. The only visible feature was his mouth, which moved somewhere between a smile and a frown. Maybe nothing was wrong, Toris thought. Maybe the Russian people are just particularly flustered today; a holiday perhaps? As for Belarus… well, Russia had never appreciated her desperate approaches, so today perhaps she had simply gone too far? Yes, that must be it. Nothing was wrong at all; everyone was simply in a foul mood. Yes, that was all. It must be. Nothing was wrong—

Tears. There were tears falling onto his hand.

Unable to stop himself, Toris gasped and made to move his hand. The grip on them tightened. It didn't hurt though. It was just tight and unmoving. Russia's hands were chilling against his skin.

The tears burned though. They were boiling hot.

Ivan moved his other hand, and slowly slid the bottle out of Lithuania's grasp while still keeping a firm hold his soft fingers. There was nothing else now; only his hand and Russia's. Still with no indication, no explanation, not even a whisper, he brought the small nation's hand to his lips, kissing it, and caressing it slowly with his fingers. Ivan then held it to his cheek, resting his head against Toris' palm.

The cheek was drenched in tears. They were so terribly hot; they made Toris want to rip the skin from his hand, if only to make it stop hurting so.

"R-R-Russia… w-what…?" was all he could manage. The man finally looked at him; even with the vast quantity of alcohol running through his veins, his face was ashen and drawn; his lips were completely slack, quivering a bit when he took a shaky breath; he was looking up at him with violet eyes both swollen and drenched with heated tears.

Toris' chest ached

"He's dying…" Ivan shuddered, gulped, and took a shallow, breathy gasp. He tried to smile weakly. "…dying…" The corners of his mouth twitched, and yet the tight smile only made him look all the more pathetic. "…Stalin is dying."

The man looked for all the world like a lost child. As large as he was, as broad as his shoulders were and as tall as his stature stood, as he curled in on himself, clinging desperately to Toris' hand, he seemed small, weak, vulnerable.

Toris bit his lip before he began to babble. "Russia, I… I'm sorry… I didn't… I mean, how is he? Ma-maybe a doctor? I'm sure a doctor--"

"No doctors," Ivan replied. "He hates them. No one will bring one. They are afraid that if they did, he would survive and exact his revenge." He almost laughed here, rubbing at his eye. "You see what he has done? He has doomed himself! They will not call a doctor because they fear that would save him!" Now he was laughing, softly, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. Toris recognized the irony, but could not find it in him to laugh with the man.

"I… I see."

"And so," Russian continued, still smiling as he rubbed his thumb across Lithuania's knuckles, "we… we wait. We walk in and smile and try to cheer him up. The almighty leader. And then we leave and discuss, talking nothing but politics, as if he had already passed. We – no, they – do not think of him. They think of his position. They don't fear his death – no one does." He paused, and almost looks as if he was starting to laugh again. Or cry. "They do not care if Stalin the man dies. He has kept them down. He has murdered his comrades. He has led to the deaths of his own people. As a man, he is scum. He… he is evil." Ivan's eyes were hard. Ice-like.

"No… they fear – we fear – the death of Stalin, the successor of Lenin. The leader of the Soviet Union; the creator of our beautiful theology; the winner of the war; the conqueror of our neighbors! He has brought us to this place, you see? Do you see where he has brought us?!" Toris yelped as the large Russian was suddenly on his feet, his hand still clasped in the tight grip as he was pulled over to the large map. "Lenin, he brought us away from our old ways, away from the humiliating place we had in the world. No one took us or the Tsar seriously; they saw us as lower than them! But he changed that, he changed us!"

"And then Stalin, he took his place and worked to continue down his path! See, here," and now, Russia was pointing at a place on the map, "here, he built factories. And here, here he built a railway. He took our country, and pulled us into the modern era!" Ivan was animated from head to toe, his free hand motioning about him seemingly with a mind of its own. His face showed how entirely enraptured he was. "But he could not be stopped there. No, certainly not! Even if you build a kingdom, what must you do? What must you do after you make your masterpiece?!"

Toris stared blankly as he slowly came to realize he was actually being asked. Gulping, his eyes darted around as he stammered, "I…I don't know… I would… p-protect it?" The tall Russian grinned broadly like a professor praising a student.

"Exactly! And he tried his hardest to do that, Stalin, he protected our new kingdom. America and England, they looked at me so strangely – just as their bosses looked at Stalin – when before we'd even won the war I was claiming countries to be under my control. But they could not understand, never! France, only France could understand me," he murmured, as if lost in the moment. Then he shook his head. "Oh, but only on the issue of Germany. France and I, we had felt the full brunt of his terrible power. That country, he should never come to control his country ever again!"

"No, but they never understood. We lost so many! In that war we lost more of our people than all of our allies combined! They murdered and maimed us; whole villages wiped from the map. _My _map. _My _people. _Me._" His expression grew darker with every word, and now Lithuania's eyes started to water as his hand was squeezed almost to the point of breaking. "No one would look at me, no one cared about me and my people, so what else was I to do? If they will not care about me, I will _make_ them care. I will make our neighbors part of my house; I will use them to protect my beautiful kingdom. No matter what America does, no matter how much he pushes, I will _never _give in to him. He will never understand. They always cared about him. _Always._ He is strong, and surrounded only by water and weak-willed neighbors. He does not understand me. He does not understand anything!"

Ivan's fist hit the map, and his chest was heaving. His previous tears had all dried by now, but Toris could not help but notice his eyes watering anew. In fact, all the little details seemed to be seared into his mind as he stood, agape, watching. The way his shoulders moved, the creases between his eyes, the exact shade of amethyst of his eyes… every piece of him processed, and pieced together in his mind. The very outburst of Russia's soul, seen for what was likely the first time ever, was something he was certain he wouldn't forget.

Toris couldn't help himself as he found the Russian's name slip from his lips. Ivan looked at him, reminded of his presence, and merely let out a huge breath before sitting heavily into his chair. His strength seemed to have left him, to such a great extent that he finally left go of Lithuania's fingers.

"But now… now he is dying. And I can feel him, stronger than ever before. He's afraid, and I…" Russia groaned, reaching for his vodka and tossing back a gulp. "He's afraid about the evil in the world. They will come for us, they always do. They wish to destroy me, but I can't allow it. But he's dying. He's dying and I…"

"Security." Ivan tensed up and looked confusedly at the small nation's sudden outburst – but not quite as shocked as the nation himself was. Toris brought his hands to his mouth quickly, and yet could not help as he continued to babble, "I, um, I mean, that-that's what he gave you, yes? Stalin, h-he was preoccupied with the se-security of Russia, and now that he's… passing… you don't know – well, no, not you, but he, er, Stalin, is, and…"

"Lithuania."

"Yes?" Toris managed to look back up from where he had knitted his fingers together, and found himself looking at a genuinely relieved Ivan. Those white-hot tears were back, streaming down his cheeks into the corners of his smile. But it was a smile. Toris knew and understood Russia's soul. And that was enough for the large nation.

Lithuania's heart raced.

"Thank you. You may leave now," Russia offered, turning away now and again gripping the cold glass bottle.

But he couldn't. Toris knew that. Perhaps Ivan felt he could, but he knew he couldn't. Not now. He could not simply leave the soul bared to him to lay in the cold. So he covered it with all he had. His arms wrapped around Russia's broad shoulders, his hand resting on the side on his head and bring it close to his chest. Ivan started under his touch, and Toris couldn't help his own jolt in response, but he held steady, his thumb burning against the tears it rubbed away.

There were no words. Lithuania had no words to say. Too many words had already been said. So he simply held the large man close, hugging him tightly even as the boiling tears seeped into his shirt and against his skin. It burned, it stung, and he was certain that his chest was being torn from the inside out. At this rate his chest would become a gaping hole, but if it meant Ivan could crawl inside and feel safe, Toris didn't think he would mind so much.

Cold hands were on his face now. Timid at first, but gaining confidence – or desperation – by the second.

Ivan's lips crashed against his, and now the hot tears scolded his face, but he endured it. He let him inside. Toris took all of the pain from the nation that he could.

For those four days he let him inside. It hurt him, and certainly his own tears mixed with the other man's. But not matter how much it burned, how much it ached, or how badly he wanted to tear himself away, he let him in. Toris drank his tears, embraced his body, allowed him to trust into him, anything, and in anyway, he let him in.

Perhaps it was a parental instinct. Maybe it was a sense of obligation. Quite possibly it could have been true affection. For whatever reason, he wanted to provide for Ivan what he so desperately needed but that no one knew to give him.

Stalin died on the fourth day. Ivan did not cry when he received the news. He simply called Toris to his room. As Toris wrapped his legs around the Russian's hips, he knew the truth. They both knew.

He had become Russia's security blanket.

Author's notes:

--This is obviously based around the time that Stalin died, which was March 5th, 1953. It was four days from his initial fall into ill health (March 1st I believe) to when he actually died.

--According to my history professor, the reason that a doctor did not come until the morning after Stalin's initial attack was due to fear, as was described in the story. They were worried that if he did survive, he would exact his revenge for them having called a doctor, since he hated them. If this is mearly an urban legend, I apologize, but it makes a great ironic story.

--This fanfiction was written from more of a Revisionist stand point because the majority of fanworks about Russia seem to be much more Traditionalist in nature, while I actually think a Revisionist Russia is far more intriguing. (Traditionalist and Revisionist refer to views of a historical event, and when talking about the Cold War the Traditionalist viewpoint is focused on how the Soviet was expansionist and forced the U.S. to react (aka the stereotipical "The Soviet wanted to take over the world" idea) while the Revisionist view is about how the Soviet was focused on security, and how the U.S. consistently forced them into a corner, and they lashed out for that reason.)

--In total, this fic was an excuse to play with insecure!Russia. Cause I like him that way. 3


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